Captured
by Elf
Summary: A Duo POV about everything from his hair, to how he hates to be captured, just an introspective on the Shinigami's life.


_**Disclaimer: **_All rights and privileges to Shin Kidousenki Gundam Wing are trademarks and property of Sunrise, Bandai, Sotsu Agency, and associated parties. The characters of these works are used WITHOUT permission for the purpose of entertainment only. This work of fiction is not meant for sale or profit.   
  


**_Author's Notes: _**Don't ask me where it came from. The idea dawned on me while reading a Christopher Golden Spike and Dru comic and listening to _Sunday, Bloody Sunday_ by U2 and _Judith _by A Perfect Circle. Also, this is the first First Person POV that I've ever written.   
  


**_Captured_**

**By: Elf**   
  


I don't like being cornered. I really don't. I don't like having my back against the wall. I like having an escape route. I always try to make one, even if there is one. I hate being captured, and I hate being chained up.   
  


The thing is, I somehow get captured or chained up and Heero or someone always has to save my ass. Why? I'm Shinigami. No damn mortal should be able to touch me, but they are able too.   
  


It really gripes my ass.   
  


So, I'm sitting in a cold cell, shackles around my wrists, the whole nine yards, waiting to be rescued. My hair lies in a pool around me. They had unbraided it and stripped all of the lock picks that I hide out of it. Then they stripped me. That was humiliating, even though the wide-eyed look of that female guard more than made up for it.   
  


Then they dressed me in a formless orange jumpsuit that did nothing for my coloring. I sigh and lean against the cold wall, careful not getting my hair caught. Trust me, it hurts like hell to get hair this long caught.   
  


This place seems like its getting smaller. I stand up and pace around, trying to rid myself of this closterophobia. It seems like the walls are gonna crush your ass almost. I can handle being in the cockpit of Deathscythe HELL, but I can't handle a simple cell.   
  


Wufei would be calling me weak right now, but I don't care. Maybe I am weak. I'm not from a wealthy family like Quatre, I wasn't born into nobility like Wufei, I wasn't trained to be a perfect soldier from birth like Trowa and Heero. I'm a street rat. I live on my wits. I'm good at running and hiding, but not lying.   
  


Damn my honest nature. I kept my mouth shut during the interrogation though. At least I wasn't beaten or tortured this time. I'm getting use to beatings. How can you get use to beatings, you ask? Well, you learn how to dodge the really nasty blows or send your mind into another place. Or you're just too damn stubborn to cry out because with a meter long braid they'll call you a fag when you're as strait as they come.   
  


That even sounded dirty to me. What was I thinking before? Oh, about living on my wits. I don't rely on prowess or super human strength like some people, mainly _HEERO_, but I've lived on my wits for years. I know how to make connections, how to deal with people. All the nifty stuff that gets you in a good place with the big guys. Really.   
  


Dammit.   
  


I've lived at a Catholic church. Not even a house of God is safe. Father Maxwell, Sister Helen, all dead. A bunch of kids, dead too. All they made was a damn memorial on it with Maxwell's name on it.   
  


There's another thing, Duo Maxwell. I don't have a name. I named myself. For all I know, my parents could be alive and well. I don't know. That's the thing. So, I named myself. Solo called me Key. Solo died, but I was the only brat that didn't get affected with the plague. He was watching over me, I know it. I wasn't alone, so, then I was part of a "Duo". Get the puns now? Then Maxwell's Demon.   
  


You know, that's actually a physic's thing. Deathscythe is a perfect example of Maxwell's Demon, the thermal scythe being used underwater . . . I'm a lot smarter than I allow people to think, just because I don't speak fluid Japanese.   
  


I hear something shift in the room. Who's coming to save my sorry ass this time? Heero? Hilde? Quatre? Wufei? Trowa would never save my ass. He destroyed my Gundam, the bastard.   
  


The door opens and I stand up. I plaster my smiling mask on my face and look the person standing there in the eye. I meet a pair of dark green orbs.   
  


I'll be damned. It's Trowa. I bet Heero or Quatre sent him here, but still, my ass is being saved. Again.   
  


_End!_   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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